


Lack of a Visible Object

by MistressClarity



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 22:10:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17333291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressClarity/pseuds/MistressClarity
Summary: After noticing something different about Mycroft's left hand, Sherlock chases his brother down and confronts him in his car. Why has Mycroft moved his ring to his wedding finger? The answer is elementary, really.A follow-up of LadyGlinda's The Right Hand, which in turn was a follow-up of kirstenlouise's Ducks In A Row.





	Lack of a Visible Object

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyGlinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/gifts), [kirstenlouise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirstenlouise/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Right Hand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16521644) by [LadyGlinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda). 



> Once upon a time the wonderful kirstenlouise wrote a story called Ducks In A Row, prompting the delightful LadyGlinda to write The Right Hand and setting off a chain of smut in this author’s head that had to see some light. Thus, this heretofore lurker in the Mylock fandom crawls out of the gutter to give you a little filth. Just a little.
> 
> This story won’t make a lot of sense if you haven’t at least read The Right Hand. This story follows LadyGlinda’s story, but I’ve taken the liberty of extending their car conversation to make it a little more angsty.

Sherlock's palms were sweating as he jumped in the car, but then again all of him was sweating after that giant run. It was a bloody good thing, he thought himself, that he was used to out-sprinting his brother's cars from time to time.

Mycroft's eyes widened briefly but he he expertly hid his surprise. He gestured for the driver to put up the darkened privacy screen.

'Well,' he said. 'Suddenly discovered a favour you failed to ask?'

'No, I just...' Sherlock paused. At least he had the excuse of catching his breath to give him time to think. He looked, eyes narrowed, at the left hand curled lightly on his brother’s knee. As he did, the hand twitched, as though its owner wanted to hide it suddenly.

Mycroft cleared his throat. ‘Yes, I have changed the hand on which I wear my ring.’

‘ _ _My__  ring,’ corrected Sherlock. Actually, it had been Mummy’s, but important rings were supposed to be heirlooms, weren’t they?

Mycroft winced around the eyelids a little. ‘No doubt you’re appalled that I kept the thing in the first place. I will remove it if you wish.’ As he made to do so, though, Sherlock reached out impulsively.

‘No!’ The word was loud in the interior of the car. ‘I don’t want you to - Keep it.’ He licked his lips. Deductions were always useless when it came to his brother, but still… surely his instincts were telling him something for a reason.

‘I didn’t realise your work was pressuring you to appear married,’ he ventured. ‘I would have expected Parliament to be beyond its prejudice against single, gay men.’

Mycroft’s lips actually twitched. ‘Brother mine, I hadn’t heard you suffered a head injury in your recent adventures,’ he said. ‘Of course I’m under no pressure. Do you honestly think a simple change of ring fingers would suffice if I was?’ He inspected his hand for a moment, then looked up, his face serious once more. ‘I visited you - well. I see that you are just as disinterested in reconciling our differences as you have always been. As I said, if you want me to take it off-’

‘I don’t want you to take the sodding ring off!’ Sherlock said, his hand clenching on his brother’s wrist. ‘You wearing it properly is all I’ve ever wanted!’ Shocked at his own words, he let go, shifting away across the bench seat. His eyes darted wildly. Maybe he could still jump out of the car.

His thoughts were halted by Mycroft’s hands, taking his in a gentle but firm grasp.

‘Brother dear.’ The elder Holmes looked deep in his brother’s eyes. ‘Do you mean to tell me - do you, despite your…’ His face screwed up in consternation. ‘Oh, drat it all, Sherlock, do you really despise me as much as you ever did?’

Sherlock compressed his lips. ‘Of course I do. But-’ he continued, clinging as Mycroft tried to withdraw- ‘you should blame your own grammar there, Mycroft. I’ve never despised you as much as you think.’

Mycroft raised a brow. ‘Enough pedantry, brother mine. You know precisely what I’m asking.’

Sherlock couldn’t avoid the dart of his tongue that wet his nervous lips. One of them had to speak plainly. ‘No, I don’t __despise__  you.’ The sudden vulnerability of that statement made his tongue a little sharper, prompting him to withdraw his hands again. ‘But you’ve always bloody despised __me!__  I don’t know why you’d go playing around with that stupid ring now, after so many years.’

This time Mycroft actually chuckled. He reached forward and smoothed a hair back from Sherlock’s forehead. ‘Despise you? Oh, my sweet boy. I've always __wanted__  you. I hated myself for it.’ He dropped his hand. ‘After nearly losing you this time… __again__ , I must remind you - I wanted to change things. I wanted to - in some way - show that I am yours. In however slight a gesture.’

‘But not change anything else,’ Sherlock said bitterly.

His brother shook his head. ‘I want to change __everything__. Everything, Sherlock.’ His eyes grew warm for a moment. ‘Particularly my answer to the question you asked when you gave me this ring.’ He raised his hand and waggled his fingers. ‘I wholeheartedly accept your proposal. Even if it is very, very late.’

Sherlock kept his gaze fixed on the car carpet, unable to properly comprehend properly, but still something, a little, lost thing inside that he thought might have been his heart, unclenched for the first time he could remember. A bloom of warmth spread from it, reaching up along his throat to his face, parting his lips and blushing his cheeks as he raised his eyes to Mycroft’s.

‘Do you actually mean that?’

Mycroft gave a wry smile. ‘In intention, at least. It remains legally impossible, but-’

Before his brother could say anything further that could ruin it, Sherlock slid along the seat and placed his lips on Mycroft’s. He was still half-expecting to be pushed away, but instead large, warm hands wrapped around his back and pulled him forward, laying him across a welcoming lap as a skilful set of lips encouraged his mouth open and a delicious tongue darted out to taste his. All Sherlock could do was moan and hang on to his brother’s shoulders, overwhelmed by a flood of sensation. Mycroft’s tongue ventured further, encouraging Sherlock to open fully and allow himself to be feasted upon. The younger Holmes felt a sharp jolt of desire spike straight down his spine to his groin and he let out a loud whimper in response. He was startled when Mycroft pulled back, and was almost ready to force him to kiss him again but his older brother simply shook his head.

‘Just hush, my dearest,’ Mycroft whispered, pressing small, soft pecks against his lips. ‘We can’t have the driver hear.’

‘Oh,’ Sherlock said, nodding his understanding before grasping his brother’s hair to pull him back for more delicious kissing. Sod the driver; there were other drivers. Surely kissing was far, far more important?

Mycroft, seeming to read his mind, chuckled, the sound softened by Sherlock’s mouth. In retaliation, Sherlock let his hand drop from his brother’s shoulder to his thigh, caressing him there, edging his thumb close to the elder Holmes’ crotch. Mycroft swiftly caught the offending hand and held it in the air.

‘Uh-uh-uh,’ he tutted, eyes glittering dangerously. He gave the hand a kiss and resettled it on his shoulder, gathering his little brother a little closer again, tucking those dark curls beneath his chin in a tender manner. ‘We most definitely cannot have any of that. We need to be in a decent state when we arrive at my house.’ Sherlock felt a shift as Mycroft turned his head to study the window. ‘Which, indeed, is going to happen imminently. Now.’ The elder Holmes lifted Sherlock again, straightening him in his seat and eyeing him closely.

‘You’ll do, I think,’ Mycroft said. ‘You have a slight flush, but that can be explained away by moodiness. Hardly unusual for you.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘What about me?’

Sherlock huffed. ‘You look like a self-satisfied git, same as always.’

Mycroft snorted. ‘How very kind, darling mine. I’m glad to see your general attitude toward me isn’t about to change.’

‘Well it’s not fair!’ Sherlock turned in his seat, trying to get closer to his brother again. ‘Things were just about to get interesting. Just tell the driver to drive around the block or something and keep going!’

Mycroft halted his imminent rush forward with a single hand. ‘Things were, as you say, about to get interesting, which is why it was imperative that we stop. Now, sit back in your seat like a good boy if you don’t want to frighten the driver.’

‘Sod the driver!’

That drew another brow-raising. ‘I had hoped you would want me to reserve my energies for yourself.’

The quick comeback had its intended effect and Sherlock, still dazed from the drugging kisses he had received, fought back a giggle. He wasn’t going to let Mycroft win this easily. ‘No. We'll just have to stay in the car forever.’ He wriggled himself forward and firmly placed his arms around Mycroft’s neck.

Mycroft chuckled and patted his back. ‘I promise you, brother mine, that things will be far more __interesting__  if we get out of the car and into my home.’

Sherlock allowed himself another dramatic huff. ‘Oh, very well then.’ he dropped his arms and scooted to the side, placing himself at a respectable distance from his brother just as the car slowed and came to a stop.

***

Mycroft smoothed his jacket again as he stepped out of the car, blessing all good things that his erection had managed to subside. Having the focus of all his deepest desires finally within reach had been a sore test of his self-control. Truthfully, there was nothing he had wanted more than to haul Sherlock into his lap and devour him, grinding their bodies together until they had both achieved the first of many satisfying completions. But, he reminded himself, it was best to start as he meant to go on, and that meant using caution at every turn.

He nodded his thanks to the driver, stifled the impulse to wait for Sherlock and walked calmly to his door, turning only to hold it open for his dutifully scowling sibling.

He had barely shut the door when Sherlock shoved him up against it and began to ravish his mouth once more. Receiving these attentions gratefully, Mycroft wrapped his hands around Sherlock’s waist, using his position against the door to spread his legs and tug his brother between them. Both of them moaned at the contact, and Mycroft smiled as he felt the delightful shiver that ran through his not-so little brother’s entire body.

He allowed himself to cup Sherlock’s pert buttocks in his hands, encouraging him to rock forward, and felt a bolt of electric arousal that made his eyes roll back in his head.

‘We have to move,’ he said, moving his hands to Sherlock’s waist again and trying to push him back. Vaguely negative sounds emerged from his brother, who was busily nibbling at his neck by this time. It was very tempting to remain there, allowing Sherlock to feast on him to the end of time, but Mycroft reminded himself that he was made of sterner stuff.

‘No, definitely moving,’ he said, just as much for his own sake as Sherlock’s, pushing the younger Holmes firmly away and turning him toward the stairway. ‘Come along, little brother. There’s a bedroom these things are suited to.’

‘Bedroom,’ Sherlock repeated, stumbling along obediently. ‘Sex?’ he added, a tone of hope in his voice.

‘You never know your luck,’ Mycroft said, tugging his brother through the bedroom door. At the rate things were going, he could very well come in his trousers, particularly if Sherlock didn’t stop fondling him through his clothes, as he presently seemed determined to do.

Those deft fingers crept around his front from behind and ran a crescendo of sparks along the firm line in his trousers.

‘Oh, Sherlock,’ Mycroft moaned, head dropping back against his younger brother’s shoulder and hips arching to rub against the erection behind him. ‘Have mercy, please.’

Sherlock hummed against his older brother’s neck. ‘Mercy would have been doing this years ago,’ he mumbled, his other fingers busy at Mycroft’s shirt buttons. ‘Or at least wearing something that didn’t require three thousand buttons undoing.’

Mycroft chuckled, swatting away Sherlock’s hands and turning, facing him as he unfastened his jacket and waistcoat. ‘Not everyone is as enamoured of a simple shirt as you are, brother dear,’ he said, shrugging off his outer layers and finishing unbuttoning the shirt.

Sherlock’s mouth dropped open as he caught his first glimpse of the furred chest of his brother. Mycroft’s heart sped for a moment in fear of rejection, then even faster as he watched Sherlock lick his lips and advance, looking for all the world like like a ravenous hunter and his older brother his prey.

‘It is absolutely not fair,’ Sherlock said, raising his hands to slide his palms across Mycroft’s chest, under the open shirt. ‘You spend all your time locked up in suits and you’ve been hiding __this__? It would have made my wank fantasies so much more enjoyable.’

There was no time for Mycroft to chuckle as Sherlock crowded him against the bed, pushing him sharply back and landing on top of him. Their groins bumped together and Mycroft felt the hard length of his brother’s erection press into him. He rolled his hips and moaned.

‘Oh, Sherlock,’ he said, pressing him even closer. ‘You’re a miracle.’

‘I’d prefer the miracle of getting this shirt off,’ replied his brother, struggling on top of him. Mycroft smiled as he observed the usually graceful Sherlock trapped within his own shirt, and made some effort to help him. By the time they’d managed to throw the thing on the floor, it was a crumpled mess - something Mycroft would normally object to - but the sight of Sherlock’s chest, as smooth and pale as sculpted marble, blew all thoughts clear from his head.

‘Mmm,’ was the best he could do, flipping them over so he could pin the younger Holmes to the bed and feast on his chest. He moaned in pleasure as his lips were finally permitted to trail across that perfect flesh, his brother’s slender fingers tugging at his hair.

‘Oh! Mycroft,’ Sherlock breathed. His hips bucked up, inadvertently rubbing the clothed length of his erection against Mycroft’s belly, causing a chain reaction in the older man, who surged up and pressed him again into the mattress.

‘Sherlock,’ Mycroft panted, holding himself above his brother, taking in the flush gracing the face of his fallen angel, those dark curls spread across his pillow like something out of a filthy dream. It was overwhelming; almost enough to cloud his eyes with tears. Sherlock reached up a hand and cupped his cheek, rubbing a thumb gently across his cheekbone.

‘I know,’ he said. He drew the elder Holmes down for a gentle kiss. Both brothers sighed as Mycroft’s body settled down, bare chest pressed to bare chest, hip pressed to hip. ‘I love you, Mycroft,’ Sherlock whispered.

Mycroft pressed his face against his younger brother’s neck, hiding his wet eyes. It was all too much - to receive forgiveness, after so many years, to receive his wonderful boy’s love so freely after so much rejection.

‘Shh, Mycroft, it’s okay,’ Sherlock said, cradling his elder brother’s head and smoothing a hand down his still-clad back. ‘Don’t think. Just be here. With me.’

The words penetrated the fog surrounding the elder Holmes and he lifted his head, blinking away the tears and nodding. ‘You’re right.’

‘Aren’t I always?’

Mycroft smirked. ‘I’ll ignore that.’ He leaned down for a kiss. ‘I love you.’

Sherlock’s grin lit up the room. ‘I love __you__.’ He pecked Mycroft’s lips. ‘I love you.’ Then he giggled. ‘Ye gods, we sound like a soppy film.’

‘We do.’ Mycroft growled. ‘Enough.’ He claimed his brother’s mouth again, delving into it hungrily, and felt his brother eagerly respond. Soon, he had the younger Holmes a wriggling, writhing mess, clutching at his shoulders and throwing sweat-damp curls back against his pillow.

‘Now, Mycroft!’ Sherlock urged. ‘Do something - anything!’ He pressed his hips up against his brother’s desperately, whimpering at the restriction caused by their trousers, then reached down to unfasten them.

Mycroft knew, in some distant part of his brain, that he should perform some sort of drawn-out seduction, but the message was shorted out in the surge of lust that drove straight from his cock to his head and down again. He growled, and leant on one hand so that he could assist, ripping roughly at his brother’s trousers. Sherlock, too, had no time for words, using both hands now to yank open Mycroft’s fastenings, his fingers trembling with urgency. Finally they managed to arrange themselves so that they were pressed together, rigid flesh to rigid flesh.

Both brothers moaned simultaneously.

‘Mycroft,’ Sherlock sighed, still shifting restlessly as his older brother began to move against him. The older man kissed his way across a milky, bare shoulder, reaching to take both hard pricks in hand, drawing an, ‘Oh! Yes!’

Mycroft trapped Sherlock’s legs between his, holding him still as he humped into the tight tunnel of his fist, revelling in the heated, silky iron of the flesh he held. ‘Yes, Sherlock. Let go. Give it to me.’

‘Mycroft!’ Sherlock clutched at the older man’s shoulders again, turning his face for an urgent kiss. ‘Oh, please!’

‘I love you,’ Mycroft said, before pressing his lips tightly to his brother’s, adding a flick of his wrist to his motions, drawing the younger man higher and higher on the planes of ecstasy, shaking with the effort of holding his own climax at bay. He pulled out of the kiss, forcing his eyes to remain open as he felt Sherlock’s body become one long line of tension, watching as that full lower lip was caught between clenched teeth as his lover was drawn up and over his peak.

The hot rush of fluid over his fist, the fierce joy in having made his beautiful brother come undone, pushed Mycroft over the edge himself and he came, trembling, between their bodies.

It was minutes before either one could move, or speak. Finally, Mycroft made to roll off his brother. Sherlock’s lax embrace instantly turned to steel.

‘No,’ he rumbled. ‘No moving. Cuddling.’

Mycroft chuckled. ‘You want to cuddle?’

‘Yes,’ Sherlock answered. 'It’s the least you can do after melting my brain into tiny runny pieces.’

The elder Holmes snorted, and soon they both were giggling, sheer relief that they had done this and the world had not ended running rampant through their systems.

‘Ugh,’ Mycroft said, noting the swiftly-cooling mess between their bellies. ‘Please tell me there is an end point to the cuddling session. I fear we may end glued together otherwise.’

‘’S fine,’ Sherlock concluded, wriggling and rubbing the sticky mess further into their skins. ‘We’ll be OK. We can live here and people will bring the work to us.’

‘Your brain truly has melted,’ Mycroft said, sliding off and reaching for tissues.

Having cleaned them up to his temporary satisfaction, Mycroft gathered his curly-haired brother into his arms again, content to stare at the ceiling and feel Sherlock’s shivers and sighs.

As their breaths calmed, Sherlock held his brother’s left hand up in the air, admiring the look of the ring - his ring - sitting on the proper finger.

‘You needn’t look so satisfied,’ Mycroft remarked. ‘If you had thought about it properly you would’ve known there was some significance to my wearing it all these years.’ He nuzzled the top of Sherlock’s head.

Sherlock sniffed. ‘Some significance. But not the proper significance.’

‘Lack of a visible object does not render devotion nonexistent,’ Mycroft said, holding him tighter, angling his hand so they could both see. ‘I have always worn it, and I was always wearing it for __you__.’

‘You just didn’t know you were going about it completely the wrong way, as usual,’ Sherlock’s snipe was undermined by a sleepy little yawn. ‘Just think about how much happier we could have been if you’d agreed to be my husband from the off.’ He snuggled in closer, bringing their joined hands to his brother’s chest, close to his lips.

‘Much happier, brother mine,’ Mycroft agreed. He kissed the top of Sherlock’s head and prepared to sleep.

‘Husband yours.’

Mycroft grinned at the correction. ‘Husband mine.’

For once, sleep and dreams for both were easy.


End file.
